


you're the only one;

by kinneyb



Series: first times [16]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinneyb/pseuds/kinneyb
Summary: “Fine,” he grumbled. “Have fun sleeping alone.”He stomped to the door and opened it, pausing for a second, maybe two.He hoped–prayed–Geralt would stop him. He didn’t. Jaskier took a shaky breath and walked out, closing the door./Geralt returns from a job but he's not acting like himself. Jaskier is concerned. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: first times [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1579837
Comments: 24
Kudos: 1331





	you're the only one;

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: has mentions of very minor sexual assault - not detailed at all, but please tread carefully
> 
> follow me on twitter @ queermight or tumblr @ korrmin

Jaskier learned his lesson after that–when Geralt and Yennefer had plans to do a job, he stayed with Cirilla in the town or city and watched over her. It was enjoyable, actually, once he got over his fear of something happening to Geralt.

He realized, quickly, that he was afraid of nothing. Geralt always returned, sometimes covered in gunk and a little roughed up but always safe with Yennefer by his side.

Things were more expensive with a child, so the witcher and sorceress stayed busy. Jaskier held up his end of things by performing at local taverns, keeping an eye on the young princess as she sat in a corner and drank (nothing alcohol, like Yennefer said).

After finishing a performance about the White Wolf and getting a rowdy cheer, Jaskier walked over and joined her.

“I wish I could help,” she said, brooding in the corner.

Jaskier smiled. “You’re reminding me of a certain white-haired witcher right now,” he singsonged, poking her nose.

Her nose wrinkled as she smacked his hand away.

Jaskier laughed as he opened his coin bag and filled it with the newest additions. “How about you go grab us some food?” he offered, keeping just a few coins out.

“Okay,” she said, changing her tune quickly. She grabbed the coins and walked to the bar.

Jaskier watched her talking to the bartender for a moment before sighing and looking away. Digging through his bag, he pulled out some parchment and his quill and ink.

He thought of the last job Geralt and Yennefer had been asked to go on–after he’d returned, Geralt had laid with Jaskier all night and told him everything, sparring no details.

It was such a change from when they’d first met and getting details was like pulling teeth. Jaskier smiled softly, biting his bottom lip, and began constructing his newest song.

Jaskier realized only after it’d been ten, maybe fifteen minutes, that Cirilla had not returned yet. He looked up, searching the tavern for the young girl.

He couldn’t find her. His stomach lurched painfully. “No,” he whispered, standing up. But finally he spotted her near the door, talking to–“Geralt,” he breathed, brightening up like the sun.

Jaskier stuffed all his things back in his bag and rushed over.

“Geralt,” he greeted brightly.

“Jaskier,” he greeted back, placing a hand on the bard’s shoulder. “You look well.”

He blinked, smiling. “Well, yes,” he said. “You were only gone for four days, Geralt.” Jaskier reached up and took his hand. “Come on, join us.” He glanced at Cirilla. “Order a bit more for him?”

Jaskier handed her a few more coins and watched as she ran back to the bar.

“So,” Jaskier said once they were seated. “How did things go?”

Geralt grunted. “Survived, that’s all that matters,” he said gruffly and, well. That was certainly reminisce of his old self.

Jaskier shook it off, assuming he was just exhausted from the fight. “Oh,” he said, remembering something important. He looked around the tavern. “Where’s our favorite sorceress?”

“You mean…” Geralt trailed off, and Jaskier looked at him oddly.

“Yennefer,” he finished. Frowning, he reached out and felt Geralt’s forehead. He knew witchers couldn’t get human ailments, but perhaps the monster had done something to him. “Are you feeling okay, Geralt?”

Cirilla returned with an extra plate of steaming food and placed it in front of Geralt with a winning grin.

Geralt always enjoyed a good serving of food after a job. “I’m not really that hungry,” he said.

“What?” Jaskier and Cirilla asked at the same time, talking over each other.

Jaskier cleared his throat and scooted his chair closer to the witcher. “Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” he asked, genuinely worried as he searched the man’s face.

He _looked_ fine, but looks could be deceiving.

“Wait, where’s Yen?” Cirilla asked around a mouthful of food.

Jaskier realized then Geralt had never answered him, so he sat back, waiting with a curious look on his face.

“She was contacted by a friend,” he replied roughly. “Said she’d be back soon.”

Jaskier nodded. It was unexpected, of course–since joining them, Yennefer had never left on her own. And, as mean as it was, Jaskier didn’t know she had any friends. But most of them had secrets, he supposed.

Cirilla pouted. “I wish she could’ve stopped by first,” she mumbled and Jaskier patted her back, a silent comfort.

Finishing their food, with Geralt barely touching any, they walked back to the inn. Cirilla hugged Jaskier first.

“Goodnight, Jas,” she whispered before hugging Geralt, who stood stiff as a board. It was odd _;_ Geralt had just recently gotten better at shoving affection to the young girl, but again he was probably just tired. Cirilla didn’t notice, at least. She stepped back. “Goodnight, Geralt.”

Jaskier watched, silent, as she walked into her room and closed the door.

“So,” Jaskier said once they were alone in their room, a sly grin on his face. “Missed me?”

Geralt stared at him, expression perfectly blank.

“Geralt?” he asked in a small voice, approaching him and placing a hand on his arm. “You’re seriously worrying me.”

“I just need a bath,” he said, surprising Jaskier but okay, he could work with that.

Jaskier squeezed his arm. “I’ll let the innkeeper know,” he said.

The innkeeper knocked on their door when the bath was ready and Jaskier followed Geralt to the washroom.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked gruffly as he stopped, turning around.

Jaskier blinked. “Wh–what do you mean?” he asked.

“Following me,” he specified as if that explained anything.

Jaskier frowned, his shoulders drooping. There was something wrong, he could tell, but he was having a hard time pinpointing what. “Geralt,” he said, soft, “we always bathe together.”

Geralt hmmed, staring at him with a blank face. “Not tonight,” he said simply before he turned and brushed the curtains out of the way, entering the washroom.

Jaskier stood there, silent, for a long moment. He closed his eyes and ignored the sting of tears on the horizon, wanting to spill over. Shaking his head, he turned around and walked back to their room.

Jaskier was sitting on their bed, staring at nothing, when Geralt returned.

“Oh,” he looked up and plastered on a forced smile. “How are you feeling?”

Geralt grunted in reply and walked over, sitting on the bed and taking off his armor followed by his clothes. Jaskier sighed and stood up, taking off his own clothes.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, looking over at him with a weird look on his face.

Jaskier hesitated with his hands on the hem of his pants. “… What?” he asked, dreading the answer. “No, no,” he said when Geralt opened his mouth, “let me guess–you don’t want to sleep together tonight either?”

Geralt stared at him, unblinking. He didn’t answer and he didn’t have to.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Geralt?” he asked, feeling like crying again. “You’re not acting like yourself. I–I thought we got over you being a fucking _bastard_ to me!”

Geralt didn’t even look bothered by his yelling and somehow that was the worst thing in the world. Jaskier picked up his shirt and pulled it over his head. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Have fun sleeping alone.”

He stomped to the door and opened it, pausing for a second, maybe two.

He hoped–prayed–Geralt would stop him. He didn’t. Jaskier took a shaky breath and walked out, closing the door.

“Fuck,” he whispered to himself, scrubbing at his hands. He crossed the hall and knocked on Cirilla’s door.

She opened it a few seconds later. She looked concerned as soon as she saw him. “Jaskier?” she asked softly. “What’s wrong?”

“I–I don’t feel like talking about it,” he answered. “Can I just sleep with you?”

Cirilla nodded and stepped out of the way, letting him in the room.

Jaskier was hoping things would be better in the morning. He walked across the hall and opened the door. Geralt was still sleeping.

Smiling softly, he walked over. In his sleep, Geralt always looked so peaceful.

“Hey,” he said, gently shaking him. “Geralt.” Geralt opened his eyes and sat up. “I’m sorry about last night,” he continued before he could say anything. “I know you were probably just tired and, um. I overreacted and got insecure.”

Geralt nodded, silent.

“Right, well, um.” Jaskier cleared his throat before leaning down, pecking him on the lips. It was so normal for them, they did it all the time, but usually Geralt kissed back, pulled him in his lap, explored his body with his hands.

He didn’t kiss back. He didn’t pull away. He didn’t do _anything_.

Jaskier opened his eyes and even realized he hadn’t closed his eyes, was staring at him with a blank look. Shivering, he pulled away and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand without even thinking about it.

“I think we need to visit a healer,” he whispered.

Geralt grunted. “I’m not injured,” he said, standing up.

“Not physically,” he said, still a whisper. “But something’s wrong, Geralt.”

Geralt stepped closer and placed his hands on Jaskier’s hips, squeezing. Jaskier’s stomach lurched painfully, and he didn’t know why. He loved being touched by Geralt; it was his favorite thing in the world.

“Shh,” Geralt whispered, leaning down and burying his face in the crook of Jaskier’s neck, kissing and sucking and nipping.

Jaskier took a shaky breath and reached up, tangling his fingers in Geralt’s hair.

Geralt sat on the bed and pulled Jaskier down on top of him. Jaskier shifted, settling in his lap, and kissed him, pushing all his worries to the back of his mind and focusing on the feeling of Geralt’s lips on his neck, his hands on his skin.

Geralt said he still wasn’t hungry, which was worrying, but he walked with them to the tavern anyway. Cirilla ordered breakfast for herself and Jaskier, and the meal was awkward, tense and silent.

“I need to–uh, grab something from our room,” Jaskier said once he was finished. Leaning over, he whispered in Cirilla’s ear, “I’ll be right back. Keep an eye on him, please.”

She nodded silently. Satisfied, he stood up and left the tavern.

Jaskier checked that Geralt wasn’t following before he took off in the direction of the town’s healer. Geralt could say whatever he wanted but he obviously needed help. It was like he’d regressed twenty years in four days.

He was halfway to the healer when he saw him.

Geralt, walking out of the woods with Yennefer by his side.

Jaskier slowed down. “Geralt?” he whispered, and the witcher looked up, obviously hearing him with his enhanced senses. Geralt smiled, the barest hint of teeth, and Jaskier’s heart skipped a beat. “Geralt!” he exclaimed, rushing over and throwing his arms around him.

Geralt hugged him back, burying his face in the bard’s hair. “Jaskier.”

“We were only gone for five days, Jaskier,” Yennefer said but she was smirking, obviously amused.

Jaskier pulled away from Geralt and threw himself at Yennefer next. Yennefer laughed, lightly patting his back. “I–wait,” he pulled back. “Five days?” He stared into Yennefer’s face. “ _Shit_ ,” he whispered once things slowly began to click.

“What is it, Jaskier?” she asked.

He looked over at Geralt and he knew, somehow, that it was _his_ Geralt.

“Cirilla,” he whispered, remembering her. He turned on his heels and ran.

“Jaskier!” Geralt called.

He didn’t look back, just kept running. He soon heard two other pairs of footsteps–Geralt and Yennefer–following him, quickly catching up. Jaskier scrambled to a stop in front of the tavern and opened the the door.

He searched the tavern but the young girl and not-Geralt were nowhere to be seen. He was breathing heavy, nearly hyperventilating, when Geralt wrapped him in his arms.

“Jaskier?” he asked. “What’s going on?”

He turned in his arms and peered up at him, eyes wide with fear. “A–a doppler,” he stammered. “It was pretending to…”

Geralt stared at him, searching his face. “Who, Jaskier?”

“It was pretending to be _you_ ,” he whispered and Geralt’s hands tightened on Jaskier’s hips, not enough to hurt. He knew Geralt–the _real_ one–would never hurt him.

Yennefer turned around and rushed out of the tavern. They quickly followed.

“Fuck!” Yennefer exclaimed, rushing through the town. “Why was a doppler pretending to be you, and what would it want with Cirilla?”

Geralt obviously had no answer.

Jaskier ran after them. “Do you think it was a ploy to get their hands on her?”

“I don’t know,” he replied gruffly and he could hear the worry, the fear, in his voice. Geralt had emotions; that _thing_ had not.

Yennefer turned a corner and Jaskier heard the blast of magic before he saw it. He ran faster. Yennefer had the thing pressed up against the side of a building, trapped with magic.

Geralt was standing next to her. “Where is she?” he asked, icy cold.

“I–I didn’t do anything to her,” the thing argued, still wearing Geralt’s face. “She kept talking to me and eventually just ran off without a word.”

Jaskier stepped forward. “And why should we believe a word out of your–”

Just then Cirilla rounded the corner, breathing heavy. Geralt looked over and Jaskier could see the relief on his face as she ran to meet him, throwing her arms around his waist.

“I–I told you!” the doppler argued, struggling against Yennefer’s restraints. “Now let me go!”

Yennefer stared at him. “What was your goal?” she asked evenly. “Why were you impersonating Geralt?” She curled her fingers and the doppler gasped in pain, the restraints tightening. “Better be a good reason.”

Jaskier stepped forward. “Kill it,” he said, surprised by his own words.

“I–I’m sorry!” the doppler said quickly. “I was just pretending to be him for the coin. I never intended to be approached by the little girl!”

Cirilla frowned and Jaskier beckoned her over, covering her eyes. “Do it.”

Yennefer hmmed, looking at Geralt with a silent question in her eyes. He pressed his lips together, tight. He looked at Jaskier and nodded, once. “If Jaskier says to do it, do it.”

She nodded and closed her hand in a fist.

Jaskier followed the others to the inn, parting ways with Yennefer and Cirilla for the night. He watched, newly protective, until Cirilla was safely in her room before turning and entering his shared room with Geralt, who was already pulling off his armor.

He looked up when he heard Jaskier enter. “Hey,” he greeted.

Jaskier smiled tightly and walked over. He ran his fingers through Geralt’s hair, rough with dirt. “I…” he stopped and started over, swallowing thickly. “I had sex with it,” he said, quiet, feeling disgusted and angry and– “I thought it was you, Geralt. I–”

Geralt reached up and brushed his knuckles against the side of Jaskier’s face. “You don’t have to explain yourself,” he said roughly. “You did nothing wrong, Jaskier.”

He nodded, suddenly feeling like crying.

“Come here,” Geralt said quietly, scooting over. Jaskier sat on the bed and laid down, resting his head on Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt ran his fingers up and down Jaskier’s arm, feather light. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, and I’m sorry I wasn’t here to protect–”

Jaskier turned his head. “Don’t,” he said. “You did nothing wrong, Geralt.”

Geralt smiled, just barely, and kissed him softly on the lips. They were silent after that. Jaskier sighed and closed his eyes, feeling safe and warm. “I love you, Geralt,” he whispered, needing to say it, needing to hear it from his own mouth.

He thanked whatever Gods existed he never said those words to the doppler.

Geralt kissed the top of his head, shifting closer. “I love you too,” he replied.


End file.
